


Porta Regia

by lilium_elendir



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, Zine: Lost in Wars - A FFXV World of Ruin Zine, old and tired
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:35:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27767599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilium_elendir/pseuds/lilium_elendir
Summary: Ardyn prepares for the long awaited end of his journey. Finally, he'll have his peace... and his revenge.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 10
Collections: Lost in Wars - A FFXV World of Ruin Zine





	Porta Regia

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Lost in Wars zine! It was such an honor to participate! <3

Ardyn walked through the abandoned streets of Insomnia with none of the usual swagger in his step. There was no one to watch, no one to see the resignation that slowed his every movement. No one to perform for.

The Citadel still stood proudly against the inky skyline, like another god there to mock him amongst the rubble of the once great city. As he approached the gates, the ground rumbled beneath his feet. The accompanied growling hadn’t stood out amongst the daemonic voices within.

“Easy, Pet. It won’t be long now.”

Ardyn waved Cerberus back down from where it had stood. Daemons roamed in the distance, remaining above ground in the perpetual darkness. Others still lurked below, Ardyn could feel them beneath his feet. They called to the scourge bubbling through his veins, singing along every drop that leaked from his pores.

A flick of Ardyn’s wrist cast the gates to the Citadel open. Here he would stage Noctis’ next challenge. He needed the young king to play his part, to arrive in the throne room ready to end Ardyn’s life. He would antagonize Noctis at every step, assuring there would be no thoughts of another way. No attempts at shrugging off the chains of fate that Bahamut had bound their accursed lineage with. 

“Oh, Ifrit,” he called as he strolled through the plaza leading to the Citadel, stopping at the foot of the steps to summon the Astral forth with a garish display of fireworks. The Infernian appeared in a column of flame that licked the blackened sky. The Astral brought his fiery wrath down on Ardyn, inundating him with white hot flame.

“If you’re quite done,” Ardyn tutted, unaffected by the flames. He caught a ball of it, allowing it to float in his palm. Red, orange, and yellow were reflected in his golden eyes, concealing the miasma within.

“What do you want, subjugator?” Ifrit demanded in the cosmic voice of the gods.

“The King of Light will be here soon. Snuff him out,” Ardyn looked up with a growl, clenching his fist and dousing the flame.

“I will kill humanity’s last hope,” Ifrit promised, dissipating into the aether to wait. He took the firelight with him, casting the plaza in darkness once more.

Ardyn turned on his heel, his coat flaring around him, and climbed the steps. “No, dear Pyreburner, but you will die trying.” He stopped on the landing, auburn hair swishing around his face as he turned to look over his shoulder. His gaze was distant, towards the island of Angelgard. He could feel the pull of something stirring. Soon. It would all be over soon. He would get his revenge and his peace in one final act.

The doors to the Citadel groaned in the silence and Ardyn left them agape like a wound. Motes of dust kicked up from his footsteps. He looked around the grand entry and made a noise of disgust. Everywhere he looked was gilt and gold, grand marble columns and vaunted decorations. But no more, he’d put an end to it all. 

“How many wills must be bent to your prophecy, hmm, Bahamut?” Ardyn mused aloud, fingers twisting as he drew one of the Kings of Yore to lay in wait. A snap of his fingers had the power restored, illuminating the way to the bank of elevators. Ardyn rode up an obscene number of floors until he reached the pinnacle of the seat of Lucian power. He smiled to think just how far they’d fallen. 

Ardyn left another surprise in the hallway outside the elevator, more out of spite than necessity. He made his way through the marble halls stopping once he reached the antechamber of the throne room.

Hanging above the doors was a painting of Bahamut’s treasured prophecy. Ardyn had seen it before and every time it infuriated him.

“It wasn’t enough for you to steal my throne and eradicate me from history, but even this?” Ardyn’s arm swept up towards the painting in a grand gesture. He climbed steps that weren’t there, until he was level with the painting. 

“When the end is nigh, brother, am I not even worthy to be here, in the darkness?” Ardyn’s voice rose in anger as he touched the painting. The Astrals and Kings of Yore. The Chosen King and his friends. The Oracle and daemons. “Perhaps I’m this bit here, this blackened tip. I think I shall claim it as my own. What say you, Somnus?”

When Ardyn turned midair, Somnus – The Mystic, was on his knees, held in place against his will just as the other two Kings before him. Ardyn’s arms were spread like wings, mirroring the Oracle behind him. Along Ardyn’s left arm was a black wing and he waved down to his brother with it, a wicked grin splitting his lips. 

“You will have your peace soon, brother,” Somnus intoned in an other-worldly voice.

“I will have my revenge!” Ardyn sneered, starscourge dripping from the tips of the feathers. “And you will perish trying to end your own lineage!” Ardyn swept the wing down at Somnus, spraying him with ichor and twisting his will further. Ardyn floated down until his feet touched dirty marble. He turned his back on Somnus without another word and entered the throne room. 

Broken by Niflheim on the day of the treaty and left to crumble for the last ten years, the essential parts were still intact. Ardyn ascended the steps towards the Crystal and settled onto the gilded throne to wait, but was it enough?

The Crystal, devoid of light since Noctis had entered it nearly ten years past, hung by chains above his head. The weight of it was as crushing as the damnable prophecy. Ardyn peered through the darkness, drumming his fingers on the arm of the throne. It wasn’t personal enough. Ardyn wanted to get deep under Noctis’ skin, until the young king could do naught but rend his flesh to be rid of him.

“More pawns in your game, Bahamut.”

Ardyn flicked his wrist as though dealing cards. Once, twice, thrice, and a fourth time; a father, a bride, an emperor, and a hero. 

“How many more must die for your prophecy to be fulfilled? Two?” Ardyn tittered in mad laughter. But the sound perished into bitter silence. Before him, hung from the same chains as the Crystal, were four figures meant to personally vex Noctis. 

“No more kings, useless and deceiving. No more oracles to betray trust. No more pompous leaders, ruining their nations. No more heroes to inspire hope in the masses.”

It still didn’t satisfy Ardyn. He stood and splayed his claimed wing once more, casting darkness over the suspended figures. Scourge dripped from their eyes and mouths, and spidered across their skin; a reflection of his own face.

Ardyn settled back on the throne. The stage was set, every piece in its place. It was antagonistic, leaving no room for reconciliation or the defiance of fate. Noctis would see that his only choice would be to take Ardyn’s life and to sacrifice his own to bring back the dawn. Ardyn was ready for his revenge and his peace. Elbow on the arm of the throne, Ardyn propped his head in his hand and closed his eyes. Soon he would be _done_.


End file.
